Ninja's Diary
by theonlyangelofanime
Summary: There are more secrets in the Uchiha Clan than anyone will ever know, let alone understand. And Itachi Uchiha has the most secrets of all. There was more that took place before and after the Uchiha Massacre than you think. Itachi had a daughter. And this, this is her story
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

Death was on the cards that day. Blood dripped down the walls like thick paint; bodies were strewn about like play dolls left to rot. There were no moans of the dying, only the steady silence of the dead. Great sin hung in the air, catching in the lungs and choking the only conscious being left. It was here that fate would take its course.

The man was shaking, but that didn't matter. Ignoring the blood, he rivaled the dead in their silence, picking his way through. The tears streamed down his cheeks, even though he promised himself that he could do this, that he would stay strong. But maybe insanity was the better option. _And it was his strength that caused him this pain… _

He was almost to his destination. And it was one of the things he had dreaded most. The door to his target was now in view, the house without the red stain of sin. Unlike all others, this house was untouched. But soon it will bear the greatest sin of all. Hazily, the man slowly pushed open the door, and it creaked softly, as if trying to protest the goings on in its threshold. A valiant effort, but all in vain. There was no going back.

The man sluggishly pushed his way in, stumbling through the halls as his exhaustion finally caught up with him. The tears clouded his eyes and it was all he could do to keep going. The hall wasn't very long, but for the man, it was an eternity unto itself.

He was there. And it was time.

He pressed his ear to the final door at the end of the hallway and heard the shallow breathing, the delicate life that it held. The life that he would have to end. This door didn't creak as he stepped in the room, didn't put up a fight. The room itself was dim and bare. Empty and hallow save for a bed and a desk. Maybe it was more cheerful with the smell of dinner cooking and the echoing laughter of children jumping on the bed and climbing on the desk…

On the bed lay a woman.

And she is very important.

The man approached the woman, whose breath came out in weak, shallow pants. Border lining hysteria. She clutched something close to her chest, a small thing made desperately to look even smaller. He admired her effort.

The woman looked up at him, beautiful even in her weakness, the tears trickling down her porcelain skin and night velvet hair.

"Please," she whispered. "Please…"

The knife was drawn in shaking hands, made bright with the tears of the murderer. The tears of the damned. He did not say a word.

"I love you," she said, reaching out a desperate hand.

He averted his gaze. Couldn't bear to look into her eyes. The tears helped him not to feel, clouding his vision from her and the outstretched hand.

She retracted it. Choosing instead to clutch her bundle closer.

The knife was raised. And the realization that there was no hope for her made the woman determined.

"Keep her safe," she said, her tears were there, streaming, but they were ignored because there was work to be done and life to be saved. "Keep our daughter safe."

The man looked her in the eyes. And nodded.

The knife was lowered as blood mixed with tears. It was done.

The bundle started to cry.

The woman, choking and coughing, took one last look at her killer, her only love. She smiled.

"You cannot run away from the things you have done," she whispered. And died.

The man gently picked up the bundle and turned. "I'm not running," he said.

Itachi Uchiha left. And he did not return for three long years.


	2. Part 1

**And I Don't Even Get Cake for My Birthday**

"Will you hurry up? Insolent girl!" Madam Solaria sharp, high pitched voice pierced my ears, even thought I get woken up like this every day. I grimaced at the sound, and tried to pull my pillow over my ears in a vain attempted to drown it out. But her voice continued to echo throughout the hotel, and there was no escape from it. No pretending that you couldn't hear her. She's a lady that knows her own strength, and is fully aware of her voice's power and distance.

Sighing, I pushed myself up and stretched, my black hair tumbling over my face as I rubbed my eyes blearily. _Leave it to me to get stuck with the worst guardian ever_, I thought, shaking my head.

"Sachiko? By God where is that girl? Sachiko!" I heard Madam's footsteps approaching and instinctively cringed at the sound. I scrambled out of my bed of spare pillows and hotel sheets, just as the door violently swung open. Immediately, Madam Solaria's commanding presence filled the tiny janitors closet that I had claimed as my bedroom when I was a child, (more like thrown in by a younger, slightly less wrinkled Madam Solaria—needless to say, she is not going senile with age). A firm believer in "earning your keep", I would probably be her slave if that was still legal. It isn't, but I was her "charity", and "charity" in her eyes means "cheap labor". I get a place to sleep and some food to eat, while she gets someone to boss around.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you, ungrateful child! It's been 14 years since you were unceremoniously dumped on my doorstep by that madman that calls himself your father, and what do I get for it? Manners girl! Manners!"

She also—incase this is unclear— likes to hear herself talk.

"Yes ma'am. Sorry ma'am," I grudgingly mutter, not in the mood for her wrath. I couldn't afford it today.

Madam Solaria took a deep breath, the kind she takes when she was going to give a _long _list of chores. Which is more often than not, but she takes the breath any way.

"The work is light today," she starts. _Yeah, right,_ I think, _and I'm the daimyo of the fire nation,_ but my face remains as placid as the business men that typically grace these halls. "You must sweep, don't cut the corners, mind you—I'll be checking—help in the laundry room for one hour, than take the calls for room service, then you must help Haruko at the Front Desk—make sure she gives them the right keys, she's growing deaf in her old age—and then you must do housekeeping. Actually, don't sweep, help out in the laundry room longer instead. It's a busy time, lots of washing. Got it, Sachiko?"

I nod, averting my gaze, trying to not start anything. Today was my 14th birthday, which means that my father is coming, like he always does once a year at this date. Madam pretends not to remember his coming, giving me a longer list of chores to prevent our meeting. She thinks he's a bad influence and gets all huffy about it. But every where he comes, and every year it's the best day of my existence. He typically spends a day or two at the hotel before disappearing. We play games together and just enjoy each other's company. Neither of us are talkers, but when we're together, we're enough. I needed to see him, and this list of chores is going to keep me from it. Panic started to rise in my chest, making my heart take off and my breath to speed up. I couldn't allow this to stop me. I wouldn't. Madam Solaria turned to leave looking satisfied, but I grabbed her arm. She let out a quick gasp in surprise.

"I'm sorry!" I dropped her arm like it was on fire, and quickly bowed. I scowled in defiance, but my hair covered my face and there was no harm done. I took a deep breath. "It's just...I was wondering if I could end a bit early today. My father is coming, and I want to spend time with my family. I'll work extra hard when he leaves, I promise, but please. I just need to see him," by the time I was finished I was breathless with worry. And maybe just a little hopeful too.

She opened, then shut her mouth. Her eyes bugged as she struggled to comprehend my request, any request. "Well I…I guess so. If you must," she choked out reluctantly, her shock momentarily getting the better of her.

"Thank you so—"

"But I expect you to work all the harder when he disappears again. That horrid man!" she cut me off. "You're lucky I owe him, and you'll have a lot of work to make up when he's gone!"

"Of course ma'am," I bowed again, and a smile curved my lips, not a scowl. It felt good. Like the summer sunshine and the shrieks of happy children running through the hotel halls.

"Don't disappoint me," she said coldly, turning her back toward me. "Less daydreaming and more working. That's all your good for…" she muttered, and left.

I didn't say a word; all my years I've trained myself to suppress the emotions. Hurt, anger, sadness and loneliness. Hold my head down and hide my true feelings. Don't see, don't hear, don't speak a word. I would escape somehow…

I speed walked to the laundry room, where the sheets and bedding were washed and folded and shipped out to various rooms for happy people to sleep in. It was a hot and humid area; steam tendrils choke the mind and make people irritable and sweaty. This made the people that worked there rough and rude. Fond of teasing and ordering around, I was their true slave.

I hated the place.

I walked there on autopilot, and I could see the steam spilling out of the cracks in the door before I was even in the room, the water vapor itself trying to squeeze its way out.

"Good luck," I whisper to the timid tendrils as they slid across my cheek and made me flush.

The second I opened the door I heard one of the washers call, "Hey, Sachiko! Fold these for me while I get another load!"

"Coming!" I yelled over the mingling sound of machine washers rattling and boisterous people yelling. I was already overheating, and sweat dripped down my brow and into my dark onyx eyes…And it was this blinding sweat that caused me to bump into a man carrying a huge load, causing it to fly everywhere.

"Why you little bitch! Look what you've done. Clean this up right now, and hurry, before I change my mind," the man took enough of his precious time to glare at me then walked away, leaving me to clean up the mess. I returned his glare, but started to clean up any way. He was way bigger than me and I didn't stand a chance. After I finished cleaning, I rushed to where I was supposed to fold that workers laundry.

"So, Sachiko, your father send you a letter lately?" asked Larissa, one of the nastiest workers here. Short and stocky, Larissa had eyes perpetually squinting from smirking and sneering, and always picked on those weaker than she. Like a Chihuahua that fancied herself a Pit Bull, she had somehow got it into her head that she was in charge and had the right to bully any one that breathes. She loved teasing me about my father, or more truthfully, my _lack_ of my father.

"No," I say carefully, I'm skating on thin ice and I know it. Feel the tension and malice in the air.

It was more stifling than the steam could ever be.

"Why not? He's your father right?" she was already smirking, so were the rest of the workers. Thinking me easy pickings.

"Because he's busy? I'm sure if he had time he would!" I say quietly, not openly challenging them, but the challenge was there.

"Oh really? Such a shame…" she feigned pity and concern, but her eyes flashed with malicious vice, giving her true intent away. She turns to her cohorts and whispers quite loudly, "Foolish, ignorant girl. Can't she see that even her own father doesn't love her? Doesn't need her?"

They laughed as my cheeks burned with silent rage.

"Does not," I whisper. "He loves me, I know he does. He's busy—with work and stuff and—" I cut myself off having nothing more to say. No more excuses piled on top of excuses like the laundry in this accursed place.

She bends over, looking down right on my face, and whispers in my ear with a voice of maniac ice, "Oh really?" she says. "I've heard he murdered his entire family in cold blood and only let your miserable hide live because your _mother_ begged him for mercy."

And that, that was my breaking point.

"You miserable whore! Monstrous liar! How dare you say that about me and my father? You don't know anything! Anything at all! Not only are you rude and obnoxious, but you're weak and pathetic!" My cheeks were flushed and my fists cried out for the justice that I knew I could never serve. Tears of distain started to well in my eyes and I did nothing to stop them.

The look on her face told me that I had gone too far, and was going to pay for it dearly. Her lackeys started to press toward me menacingly as I stood there, panting.

"You were always a smug little twit of a girl," Larissa says, unusually quiet. The quiet before the storm. "It's time you wake up and face reality. Your father is a murderer who only shows up once a year, while you spend the rest of your days slaving away doing chores. Your life has no meaning. Why do you even exist? And yet, somehow, you're so full of yourself. You make me sick!"

I was so nervous I was shaking, not because of what was going to come next, but what the truth in her words. They were delivered in the cruelest way possible, but what made them truly and despairingly heartless was that they were accurate. These words, so evilly spoken, were the only honest thing someone has ever said to me.

And I think it broke my heart.

By then everyone was caught up in it. Workers stopping their mind numbing job long enough to yell, "Come on Larissa! Show her whose boss!"

Larissa smiled, so sweet in form but so ugly in intent. "You'll learn your place little girl," she whispered menacingly in my ear. "And I'm going to teach it to you."

And I saw nothing but red before the merciful darkness gathered me in its gentle arms, so that I may feel nothing once again.


End file.
